‘Fat?’ He pretends seriousness but only succeeds in doing so with difficulty.

I scowl. ‘I am able to throw things still,’ I warn him. ‘My aim remains good.’ I move to lean against the door frame, my eyes shaded against the sunshine, taking in the prettiness of the day outside. The lake shimmers. A lanky heron stalks fish in the shallows. A family of young grebes swims past, heads nodding in their distinctive, comical manner. Brynach appears at my side. He starts to speak, but the sound of approaching horses stops him. Two riders draw near. We recognize both at once: Rhodri and his green son, Siōn. They are dressed in their habitual finery, even though there is no one who cares here to see it.

‘Good day to you, Prince Brynach,’ the princess’s brother hails his master cordially, bowing elaborately in his saddle, yet treats me as if I were not visible. He succeeds in deferring to his prince whilst wordlessly insulting me. Such subtle talents demonstrate skill born of a lifetime of diplomacy. ‘And what a very fine day it is.’

‘A fine day for a ride out,’ Brynach agrees, pointedly slipping his arm around my waist. The action is not lost on his brother-on-law, but he masters his displeasure and conceals it well.

‘Indeed,’ he agrees, ‘Siōn has a new horse and we wished to test his stamina. We took him atop Mynydd Moel and let him have his head.’ Here he pauses to beam proudly at his pimply offspring.

‘It is a well-formed animal,’ says Brynach.

‘It must have cost you dear,’ I point out.

Rhodri would prefer to ignore my comment, but his son’s vanity will not be easily controlled.

‘Quite so,’ he agrees brightly, ‘Father gave more gold for him than for any other horse he owns.’ Siōn crows, not seeing the flash of irritation on Rhodri’s face.

His father is forced to laugh in an offhand manner. ‘It is the way of parents, to indulge their sons,’ he says.

Brynach smiles and nods. ‘I look forward to spoiling my own child similarly very soon,’ he declares.

There is a crackling quality to the air around us. This is as close to a challenge on the subject of my baby’s place in the world as the prince has yet laid down. Rhodri, of all people, knows the importance Brynach will place on the child if it is a boy. Regardless of its illegitimacy, if this is the only son the prince is ever to sire, it may never become noble, but it will be his heir. Rhodri’s tactic is to continue to ignore my very existence.

‘Siōn,’ he gestures toward his son’s horse, ‘your mount is cooling and must be tended to.’ He turns a slippery smile in Brynach’s direction. ‘We will take our leave, my prince,’ he says with another bow, expertly making his horse back away as he speaks.